Heartache and Pity
by agoodtuckering
Summary: Takes place after Kill The Moon and subsequently breaks canon. Just an argument that's been brewing for weeks (or months, if you're the Doctor). And maybe the two of them come to terms with a few things afterward. He genuinely feels that his decision to leave her on the Moon wasn't the wrong one, and she genuinely believes her anger at him is more than justified.


He shouldn't have wound up at her flat. But he did, anyway. He even parked his beloved TARDIS outside, down on the street, and climbed the trillion and a half stairs to her door. He knocked gently, waited for her to come round.

When she opened the door, she was _shocked._ "Doctor?"

She didn't _immediately_ begin cursing, which, to the Time Lord, was a nice change. She couldn't have been that mad, then, could she? She didn't immediately begin hurling various objects at him. Then again, she didn't have the time to think _that option_ through…

He shook his head, motioning to her flat. "Are you home alone? Can I come in, please? I'd like to talk. If you would let me."

A bit perplexed, she stood aside for him to tentatively come inside her cozy, warm flat. He'd missed it, truth be told. It had been a whopping three weeks since he'd last seen her, in her eyes. Two months, in his own. He'd been elsewhere, saving worlds and forgetting about the tremendous ache in his hearts.

"Thought I told you to get lost," she suddenly said, filling the void between them that seemed to stab away simultaneously at his poor hearts. "And stay lost."

An awkward beat or two passed where he wrung his hands together, trying to find his voice. "I'm not here to apologize for what I did," he eventually said to her, "only to see if you're alright."

She sizzled for a moment. Bloody _Time Lord._ He didn't understand what he'd done, did he? And for all the life in her, she couldn't seem to think of a way to shake him out of the stupor he was in. This planet belonged to him as well. Not just to Humans. He sought to protect it for long enough. He should have known better.

For a moment, she looked as if she may begin yelling. A hand rose, his eyes a bit wild with fright. "Please don't yell," he said, almost _gulping_ afterward. "How are you and P.E. doing?"

That set her off. Even the air felt as if it crackled for a moment. The room suddenly felt electrically charged as she took a dangerous step closer to him, a dining table between them — thankfully, for his sake.

"You cannot just pop round for a chat! That is not how this works! You abandoned me, Doctor! You abandoned us! Courtney, too! Then you tried to say that you were bloody taking the stabilizers off! The training wheels, for god's sake! You can't even be bothered to use _Human_ analogies. The _other you_ wouldn't have made that decision! He wouldn't have left us all alone on the Moon to make a terrible decision! I wasn't kidding when I told you that I _almost_ didn't press that button!"

He looked incredulous. _Offended._

"The _other me?_ Do you even understand, in any way, what you've just said to me?" His voice caught in his throat in a way that pulled at her heart, even if she'd never, ever admit it. "They're _all_ me! _Every face!_ You still can't see me, can you? I have worn so many faces, Clara! But my hearts are still the same in here." He motioned to his chest. "The choices _I_ make are still the same. I'm not proud of some of them, you know that, but they're still _my_ choices, either way. The choices that I make are all the same, regardless of the face or personality."

His expression faltered, something in it giving him away. He was _deeply_ hurt. And perhaps that made her see reason. She softened, instantly feeling terrible for her words. But he continued, too upset to stop himself.

"I'm sorry I'm not your _pretty, young boyfriend_ anymore, Clara. This is what I am now, alright? Just an old man with a box and a screwdriver. No one said that you had to fly around with me. You chose to stay with me, even after some truly awful things happened. You didn't have to, you know. _You chose to."_

She took a step back, countering and saying, "I couldn't just leave you, Doctor. You were lost and afraid and alone and even _I'm_ not that terrible. _I'd_ never abandon you."

Reflexively, he winced. He almost cringed. And then he took a step back, something flickering in his eyes that she almost missed and would have certainly mistaken for shame. Shame that she had seen him at his most vulnerable. "You pity me, then, do you? Tell me," he said. "Do you _pity_ me? Is that why you've stuck around with me this whole time?"

They were both yelling now. Surely the neighbors weren't too happy about it.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she hollered back, standing her ground. Five foot one and enraged, well — he never stood much of a chance.

He turned for the door, huffing out an exhausted breath. "Yes it is," he tossed back, over a bony shoulder. "I just caught you tripping up on your own words. Funny how that happens. I'm sorry I'm not the man you once knew. I'll just go. Perhaps I should have a long time ago."

Something inside of her imploded. Something primal and visceral and dangerous, something she hadn't felt since he'd been a different man — one with a ridiculous haircut and a bowtie and a chin that could go on for days. One who spoke much softer, much sweeter, and took her on adventures to see _wonders._ One she had once kissed. One who let her take care of him.

She felt… protective. She felt at home in his presence and the sudden realization that it was being ripped from her shattered her whole being. _Had she fallen in love with him? Had she always been in love with him and just hadn't known it?_

She nearly flung a chair out of her way to cross the small, homey dining room to catch up with him. "Don't," she said, closing the door as he'd begun to open it. "Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare walk right out of my life like that."

Stunned, he could do nothing but just stare. His eyes were wide, hair a bit mussed and ruffled from his rough fingers. His lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but wasn't sure how. Or what to say. He stopped, pausing by the door and neither reaching for the knob again nor stepping away, out of the foyer.

"Don't leave me," she said in a tone much softer, in a voice much warmer. _"Please."_

She took advantage of the way they were standing to wind her arms around him for a hug. In any other circumstance, yes, it would have made him uncomfortable. But not tonight. Not here, not now. He relished the warmth of her arms around his shoulders and her body pressed to his. It was _loving._

"Clara," he began softly, "what are you doing? I'm not sure I follow." The anger, the hurt from mere moments before seemed to melt away the longer she held him. Was this what it always would have felt like to have her arms around him? He'd been missing so much.

After a while passed, she merely said, "I do not pity you, you daft old man. And I think, if I had my choice, I'd rather have _this face_ here with me than the last. I'm just sorry it took me so long to see that."

 _Dumbfounded._ That's the only to describe how he felt.

He drew away gently, brows rising as he cast a glance down towards her. "What are you saying?" he asked timidly, some sort of hope in his eyes. She couldn't quite place it but she knew it the moment she caught glimpse of it.

"I'm saying, Doctor, that I like you just the way you are, and I'm sorry for what I said before. I was angry, I'm _still_ angry, but I didn't mean the words that I said. We do that sometimes, you know. Us Humans. We lash out when we're upset or mad. We say things we don't mean, sometimes. And I'm sorry if I hurt you."

He'd never been given a proper apology before. Or at least he hadn't in ages. It felt… quite nice, actually. Quite nice, indeed. And the least he could do was return it.

He softened — _visibly_ — before nodding his head. "I suppose I'm sorry as well," he whispered quietly, as if he was unsure of _how_ to word what he was feeling. He wasn't good at this at all. Especially in this new body of his. Too much work. "I'm sorry that I handled everything… terribly. I felt that what I was doing, leaving you three on the Moon _without me_ , was the right course of action. And it was, leaving you lot to decide. But maybe I should have stayed _with you_. I wish I had now, and I'm sorry."

She surprised him then, cupping his cheek gently and rising up on tiptoes to press a pair of warm lips to his cheek. He was too stunned to do anything. Too stunned to move, too stunned to draw breath. How does one react to such an impossible girl giving them an impromptu kiss?

She smelled so good, felt so good in his arms. He found himself lost in the sensations pooling in his belly, yet struggling to ignore them. _They wouldn't work,_ he told himself.

"Thank you," she told him, ever so gently, before settling back on her feet and pulling away. "Would you like some tea?" That was her way of asking him to stay. Her way of saying she didn't want him to walk right out of her life. And maybe that was it, they needed each other just as much.

The guilt of what she was putting Danny through would eat away at her. She'd have to choose, one man or other, but right now everything could wait. She loved them both — that was the tricky part.

He followed her through the hall and into her kitchen. She put the electric kettle on, a gift from her nan, and took two mugs out from the dish drainer. She prepped the kettle, putting a knitted cozy on it. He could only watch, smiling gently.

"Thank you," he said, something earnest in his voice.

 _Perhaps,_ she thought as she cast her eyes his way, _this all had to happen to make them both see what mattered in their lives. Each other._

He came over, he wanted to see her, and he wanted to make sure she was alright. She was just too angry earlier to see that. And he thought she pitied him; he was just too angry and upset to see what she really meant: that she cared for him and didn't want him out exploring the great big Universe all on his own.

Love was funny that way.

She turned, a quizzical look on her face as the kettle began to warm. They had a few minutes before it would boil. A few minutes to talk. A few minutes to… do _anything._

"You don't need to be this way with me, you know," she began. "You don't need to be so closed-off. I see the _real you_ every time, regardless. You can hide but that doesn't really change it, you know?"

Now he was uncomfortable again. He stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides. "If you see the real me," he started, "then why do you need to say it, anyway? Just let me be the way I am." The air crackled a bit, their eyes meeting. It felt as if there was something left unsaid. _Was there?_

With a sigh, she shrugged a shoulder and reached for a bag of homemade biscuits that had been stowed away in her cabinet, stretching up on tiptoes just to get at it. He was tempted to help but she might not have appreciated the comments about her height.

"I happen to know that it's all just for show," she eventually responded. "Because you're really just an alien who likes saving civilizations and meeting new people and seeing new worlds. Even if you have occasional moments when you're _quite_ the arsehole. And you do have them, believe me. But all you've ever been looking for is someone to travel with. And you must keep _me_ around for a reason, so…"

What was she getting at, anyway? He didn't like this topic.

He came over, something carrying him other than his feet — _bravery,_ perhaps. "I wouldn't keep you around if I didn't like you," he told her, chuckling quietly and trying to joke around the subject she seemed to be dancing dangerously on.

How had today even gone this way? How were they staring one another down in the kitchen now, both wanting to ask if they fancied the other? Both leaning in closer, as if they were about to kiss?

Just then, there came a knock at the door. She sighed, stepping around him to answer. It was her neighbor, John, wanting to know if she was alright.

"Heard some shoutin'," he said, a brow raised. He eyed the Doctor from where he stood, then cast his eyes down at Clara. "Who's that? Your father? Is everythin' okay, Clara?"

She went pink in the cheeks, her face growing warm. The Doctor had come over and when she turned to cast a look his way, she found her forehead bumping into his arm. "Ouch," she said, a petite hand rising to stroke her reddening brow. "You're too bony. And don't do that. Don't sneak up on me like that." Then she cast a glance John's way, adding, "No, everything's alright. But thanks for knocking."

The Doctor took _one_ look at the bloke and seemed to stand a bit closer to her, as if apologetic about sneaking up on her. "I'm _not_ her father," he said forcefully. "I do wish everyone would stop saying that."

John got a bit uppity then. "Look, mate," he said, "I was just makin' sure she was okay. I heard _a lot_ of shoutin' and I do watch a lot of crime television. My imagination got away with me, yeah. Wanted to make sure someone wasn't murderin' my poor neighbor. And you _do_ look old enough to be her father. What are you two, bezzie mates, then? Stop shoutin' so loud. I'm glad you're alright." He turned then, walking away and heading back to his own flat.

It left Clara and the Doctor alone, the door ajar. She was too busy trying to find the right words. On a gusty sigh, she closed the door and locked it again, then said, "You don't look old enough to be my father. For two-thousand, I'd say you're looking pretty good for your age."

It might not be much, but those few sentences eased the ache in his hearts. Maybe there was a little bit of hope for them yet.


End file.
